


'cause you burn with the brightest flame

by timelxdy



Series: josmin [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Doctor Who AU, F/F, thasmin, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-27 09:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16700008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxdy/pseuds/timelxdy
Summary: PC Yasmin Khan is the at the top of her game when an incident at work leaves her injured. Luckily for her, Weston Park Hospital's top doctor is there to aid her recovery.





	1. eighty percent skill, twenty percent luck

**Author's Note:**

> warning: some distressing scenes and mentions of blood  
> also apologies for my awfully limited knowledge of medicine and hospitals!!!

_Buzz, buzz, buzz._  

The alarm clock reads five-thirty in the morning when Yazmin Khan blinks blearily awake in the darkness of her room, her thick, pale blue duvet protecting her from the chill in the air which comes, unwelcomed, with the depths of winter. She takes advantage of the next few minutes of snug warmth before she moves, almost mechanically, to ready herself for work.  

She really,  _truly_  adores her job as a police officer, but there’s nothing Yaz finds more unfair than leaving her flat at a time when most are still dozing in bed, or, alike the students living opposite, are just arriving home from alcohol-fueled nights out.  

The short walk to her car is bitterly cold, and she’s momentarily grateful for the sensible part of her brain for reminding her to wear a thicker coat today. Moments later, to the sound of the local radio, she’s finally on her way to Hallamshire Police Station.  

It’s her third year on the job now, and she’s finally getting involved in more challenging, arduous tasks and call-outs. Sure, there’s more risk involved (much to the worrisome dismay of a certain Najia Khan), but she thrives on the adrenaline which rushes through her veins the minute she’s placed in a seemingly impossible situation.  

Today, however, it seems as though everything and everyone is against her. The minute she gets to work, she gravitates, as usual, to the kettle. After pouring out her second coffee of the morning, she promptly stumbles over the foot of her chair and sends the torrid liquid cascading down her crisp white shirt. To the amusement and teasing of her co-workers – especially Ryan Sinclair, a rookie, she changes afresh. She feels a little less embarrassed when a fresh mug has been made for her upon her return.  

Yaz has been paired with Ryan today, as per usual. She’s all but training him up at this point, informing him of the do’s and don’ts while they’re on patrol. She doesn’t mind him, despite the endless teasing and digs at her. They get on like brother and sister and she’s grateful he’s so quick to pick things up. Alike her, he never makes the same mistake twice.  

“How’s it going, butter fingers?” He sniggers as he climbs into the passenger seat, smug and annoyingly chipper for seven in the morning. 

“Shut up and get in the car.” 

“Woah, chill.  _Someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning... or did you fall over that, too?” 

“Okay, you’re definitely not in charge of the AUX today. You better get used to Lily Allen and Fleetwood Mac, buddy.” 

“Dude.” 

Their first call out is to a group of teens loitering outside the gates to their school, smoking weed and, simply-put, acting a little too big for their boots. After a thorough talking to from herself and Ryan, she confiscates what’s left of the hallucinogen and sends them on their way with a warning. It’s the usual, run-of-the-mill situation, leaving them unfulfilled and twiddling with their thumbs when they return to the vehicle.  

This is the point where things head south.  

They don’t receive much information on the next call-out, other than the mention of an accident on the main dual carriageway out of the centre of the city. They’re the first unit to respond, red lights blazing past in a blur as Yaz steps on the gas and races through the morning traffic.  

Her focus on the road ahead, Yasmin tries her hardest to decipher the worst possible scenario and how she’ll tackle it, akin to the unusually quiet rookie in the seat beside her. There's an eerie, tense silence in the car as anticipation and heart rates grow. It’s Ryan’s first RTA, so she offers up a reassuring look when they briefly meet each other’s gaze.  

“You alrigh’ with this?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Should be fine. Right?” 

“Sure. Just keep your head on and focus on the job, okay?” 

“Cool. Thanks, Yaz.” There’s anxiety clear in his voice, but her words do seem to ease the worry lacing his features. 

It takes five minutes, and in those five minutes, twenty more calls have been made to the Hallamshire Police. Upon approach, it looks like complete and utter  _carnage._ There are four cars involved, two more worse for wear than the rest. There’s a group of four – a middle-aged couple and two businessmen, sitting on the bank beside the road, clearly involved if their cuts and bruises are anything to go by, as well as the shock and horror present on their features. She pulls up and they rush to exit the vehicle. Yasmin bursts into action instantly, jogging towards the mess of metal glass and smoke. She turns to Ryan hastily.  

“I’ll check over the first two cars, you check the rest. If they’re empty – and  _make sure of that_ , go and make sure everyone over there is okay. Got it?” 

“Got it.” 

“Be careful, I can smell petrol and any one of these cars could go up in seconds.” 

The windshield on the second car in the pile up has been completely shattered when she races towards it, smoke beginning to build under the crumpled hood of the car in front. She hears a soft cry of pain from inside, making easy work of hauling open the door. Inside, sits a woman and a man in their mid- eighties, she estimates. They’re both conscious, but there’s scratches and cuts from the glass littering their features. She can deduce the white-haired woman’s legs are trapped by the steering wheel, though the bloke beside her looks surprisingly unhurt.  

“I’m PC Khan, Hallamshire Police. Just keep calm for me, okay? I'm going to get you out of here.” 

She rounds to the other side of the car and heaves the door open with her utmost effort, reaching out to assist the man out of the car. He’s wobbly on his feet and his silence emphasises his shock, so she helps him over to the grass verge with the others, a safe distance from the vehicles.  

When she returns, the smoke has increased tenfold, the heat beginning to emanate. From the other side. She picks up her pace, checking the woman over for any other injuries while she looks for a way to lever the steering wheel up.  

It’s like a ticking bomb. 

“Can you move your legs and shift your back towards me, miss?” 

“I think one’s broken.” She hisses faintly through the pain but manages to wriggle herself enough with the car door now open to slide into the dark-haired woman’s arms. She hefts her up under her arms and, as smoothly as possible, pulls her from the wreckage to join the others.  

She can hear the distant sound of sirens, reassuring her of the extra hands she’ll need to make sure everyone is safe and sound in time. The thought of taking statements and the paperwork involved doesn’t have time to weigh on her mind when she hears the heart-wrenching scream of a child from the other car, at the same time as the bonnet blows off and flames become visible over the engine. She has minutes. Seconds, even. She takes the risk.  

“Please, help! My kids are in there!” Comes the voice of a woman in her mid-twenties, coughing through the blackening smoke. The flames have started to lick at the car’s bright red paint, spreading in its slow, but unstoppable force.  

Sprinting over and skidding to a halt at the back door, Yaz smashes through the window with her baton – careful not to pose harm to anyone and scoops up a crying infant from its car seat, handing it over as smoothly as possible.  

“Harry’s in there too! He’s only six, please!” 

“Miss, please get to safety. I’ve got this, okay? I’ll get him out and he’ll be safe. Now,  _please,_ join the others!” She pleads, and reluctantly, the woman jogs back to the small group while Yaz tries the door handle.  

The exterior of the car door is dented and jammed shut, so she has no option but to lean into the smoke-filled car, glass digging into her palms during the process. She has no time to notice, especially when she spots the little boy through black smoke. He’s spluttering and half-conscious, a deep gash on his forehead coating his features in a thin layer of blood. Coughing, she calls for him.  

“Harry? Hey! Do you think you’re strong enough to crawl back here for me, please?” Her tone lifts in pitch when angry plumes of smoke and overwhelming heat threaten to reach her. 

“My head hurts, and my arm. I can’t see properly. Is it night time?” The boy chokes, slumping in his spot as the energy drains for him. He’s just out of reach for her, so she can’t help the pleading in her voice. From afar, she hears the sound of heavy footsteps and the words ‘keep back’, though she’s focused entirely on the little boy slipping away from her.  

“That’s the smoke, Harry, which is really,  _really_ bad for you. _Take my hand,_ Harry. _Please.”_  

Their fingertips brush and that’s all she needs. Inch by inch, she pulls him closer to the window. By the time he’s close enough, she scoops him out of the jeep’s window and sets him on his feet. The car is well and truly wrecked by now, and the pause she takes to watch him run to his mother is her only flaw.  

She feels it before she hears it, the heat singing the hairs at the back of her neck and leaving her wide-eyed as she turns to run. It’s too late, however, and the force of the explosion throws her unceremoniously against solid tarmac. She can hear a faint snap and then, simply, an abyss of darkness.  

 

When she wakes, she winces against the bright lights above and the sudden onslaught of noise around her. She reaches up to cover her mouth when she coughs drily, only to find an unexpected weight to the limb. She opens her eyes as much as possible and glances down to catch sight of a cast wrapped around her arm. 

"You're awake! That's brilliant. Hi, Yaz. Can I call you Yaz? I'm Doctor Joanna Smith, and I'll be taking care of you until you're back to full health again."

When her vision finally clears, Yaz glances up to the source of the ramblings to settle on the slim blonde at her bedside, grinning away like a proud puppy. 

Suddenly, the throbbing in her arm - as well as the rest of her limbs, dims to a gentle simmer, and her lips curl into a smile of their own accord. 

She's the most gorgeous woman she has ever laid eyes on. 


	2. though hope is frail, it's hard to kill

Weston Park Hospital’s Accident and Emergency department is bustling with patients when Joanna arrives for her shift, already prepared and poised to tackle another day of re-locating bones into their former position and stitching up potentially fatal wounds. 

“Morning, team!” She thrums enthusiastically when the enters the staff room, slipping off her long coat and swinging open her locker to stuff her bag inside. Apparently not everyone wakes up in high spirits every morning without fail, shown by the way her colleagues mumble their responses into fresh cups of coffee. The blonde had referred to her co-workers and friends with the term ‘team’ not so long ago, and it had stuck, much to their amused dismay. 

“What’ve we got first?” She questions, hoping for even a hint of a response this time. 

“There’s a four-year old girl, Daisy, with a pea stuck up her nose.” Graham, the head of department, counters with an amused grin. He lifts his brows as if to say ‘good luck with that’ and returns to his coffee and crossword. 

“How did that even ha- okay. Brilliant. Not too much coffee now, Graham. S'not good for you.” She suddenly breathes a laugh which is too bright and happy for this time in the morning. 

“Do you get it? ‘cause the pea is stuck up her nose? S’not? Snot? Oh, never mind.”

“Get to work, Jo.” Graham chides, though a slow smirk spreads across his features, earning a smile in return from the doctor. 

She has a way of alleviating the stress and tension in the department merely with her presence, sweeping into action as soon as she leaves the staff room. She ambles over to a curly-haired blonde girl propped up on a bed in the corner of the room, drawing the curtain closed behind her and greeting her concerned parent with a firm handshake. She gives Daisy a high-five instead. 

“Hello. I’m Doctor Joanna Smith. What seems to be the problem?”

One dislodged pea and a ‘Number one patient’ sticker later, the tall blonde moves to the next bed along. There’s an elderly woman settled on the sheets, a familiar face; she’s in and out of the department all the time, ever since the passing of her husband. Although it's not down to her fragility, that's for sure. 

“Hello again, troublemaker. Another fall?” The white-haired lady nods, though there’s still a cheeky glint in her eye. 

“Mornin’, Mo.”

“It’s Jo, love.”

“That’s what I said! Mo.”

Joanna shakes her head in amusement, chuckling to herself. “So be it.” 

She takes her vitals, noting the information on her clipboard and offering up a breezy grin. 

“How’s the Zumba class going? Or was it sky-diving this time?”

“I do abseiling now, actually. My grandson asked me to come and watch him not too long ago, and I couldn’t resist a try.”

“ _Abseiling_? Wow, Anne. Do you ever stop for breath? You’re amazin’.” Affection glints to life in the doctor’s green irises, and she reaches out to touch a hand to her own.

“Next time, be a bit more careful, yeah? For me?”

“Can’t make any promises, love.”

Her response is cut off at the sound of the phone ringing to life at the other end of the room, and she politely excuses herself to jog over. She plucks the phone from its purchase on the wall and answers hastily. 

“Weston Park Hospital accident and emergency department. This is Doctor Joanna Smith.”

“There are four ambulances on their way to you. ETA ten minutes time. Four casualties, one major and three minor injuries. Be prepared.”

She reaches for a pen and paper, scribbling the details down and hanging up to gather her co-workers. Graham approaches swiftly. 

“There’s been an RTA. Four ambulances are on their way. It’s mostly broken bones, but one casualty is unconscious. One of the cars went up in flames, and she was in the line of fire. I’ll take her, you sort the rest?” The Doctor informs, words running from her lips at a mile a minute. There’s a sudden tension in the room, features apprehensive as the staff wait, and wait, and  _wait_.  

Then, finally, there’s a cacophony of sirens synonymous with the doors flinging open and patients being wheeled inside in different forms of disarray. 

Joanna and her colleagues launch into action; Graham hurries straight for the little boy with a hefty head injury and concussion – Harry, she thinks his name is. She hands the minor injuries off to her fellow colleagues and focuses on the most critical patient by the name of Yasmin Khan. 

She’s still barely conscious when they wheel her in on a stretcher, quick but careful when they move her onto a proper bed. 

“Tell me everything.”

“She took the brunt of the force when one of the cars’ engines caught. Found unconscious at the scene but she’s gradually coming back to us. Still, possible head injury and potential for internal bleeding. She hit the ground very hard, the witnesses say. Her colleague, Ryan, was there when it happened. There are two fractures to her wrist, glass in her palms and a gash to her head, in the upper parietal area. The rest of the cuts are superficial, and her heart rate has calmed to seventy beats per minute.”

“Brilliant. Thank you. I’ll send her in for a scan and take it from there.”

It’s only when the ambulance team leave and she has an x-ray taken that she gets a good look over her injuries, breathing a sigh of relief when there’s no surgery needed. Her work partner, Ryan, has filled her in on the courage and bravery in the young police officer’s actions, and she starts to feel strong admiration for the dark-haired woman still very much under the coax of unconsciousness. 

She manages to patch up the wounds to her face as neatly as possible, if only so as not to affect her delicate features. She’s very pretty, something the blonde had picked up instantly upon arrival. Now, with the blood washed away and stitches carefully pulled through the deep cut on her temple and cheekbone, she looks somewhat angelic. 

Joanna shakes herself out of her daydream when Ryan clears his throat beside her, eyes dancing with mischief. She quickly distracts herself with getting her palms stitched up and her arm carefully set in a plaster cast. 

To his credit, Ryan sticks around until Yasmin finally rouses. She’s bleary and confused, but as soon as the blonde begins to murmur her name, she glances down at her arm, then blinks up at her with an unreadable expression. It's akin to awe and leaves her slightly breathless.

"You're awake! That's brilliant. Hi, Yaz. Can I call you Yaz? I'm Doctor Joanna Smith, and I'll be taking care of you until you're back to full health again.”

The police officer glances up at her through dark, perfectly curled lashes, and if she didn’t already find her breathtaking, she does now. She reaches out to touch a warm palm to her shoulder, her hand burning with sparks of invisible electricity. 

Ryan takes in the exchange through surprised amusement, glancing between them with the biggest, most smug smirk he can muster.  _Oh, he’s never going to let Yaz hear the end of this._ He moves aside to give the Doctor space to check Yaz over quickly. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Achy. What happened?”

“You were involved in an incident. The car you saved that little boy from? The engine blew and you took most of its force. You’ve been unconscious for a few hours now; we had to make sure there was nothing internal.”

“Is Harry okay? Did he get away in time?” The dark-haired woman murmurs, voice broken and dry. She winces when the blonde lifts her arm gently onto a pillow, helping to ease the pressure.

“Harry’s fine. Just some cuts and bruises. He said thank you, by the way. You’re a bit of a saviour right now, Yasmin Khan. You managed to get everyone involved to safety before anyone else even turned up. You should be chuffed.”

She breathes a sigh of relief at the information, relaxing back against her pillow with a soft sigh. 

“I’ll leave you to get some more rest. Just shout if you need me, alrigh’? Or just mention custard creams and I'll come running. I love custard creams.”

Her brows pinch together and the chuckle which slips past her lips makes her twinge in pain, but it’s worth it to see the Doctor glance back in pleasant surprise. 

“She’s been awake for, like, a minute, and you’ve already managed to make her laugh? Oh, man. You must be her soulmate or something.” Ryan chides, earning an adorably confused frown from the blonde as she turns to check on the rest of the patients. She’s transparent to him, though, only encouraging his overactive imagination. Yaz gives her friend a swift nudge with her free hand, hissing when she accidentally pulls at the stitches there. 

“That’s karma, mate. I’m totally right.”

 _So much for the support_ , Yaz thinks begrudgingly, but she can't find it in herself to disagree with him. 


	3. what's ahead is a different colour

The few days which follow Yasmin Khan's heroic actions are spent in the same cubicle and the same chaotic environment she'd woken up to initially.

The hint of internal bruising is discovered quickly after a wobbly-legged attempt to walk to the other end of the corridor goes south for the young police officer, leaving her doubled over in agony and clutching at her side. Joanna is there to catch her when she stumbles, assisting her back to her bed with a worried expression she hadn't witnessed her using towards the other patients. A sly, egocentric part of her brain thrives on this information, accepting her help if it means she can breathe in her - now familiar -perfume. It's a musky scent, with undertones of vanilla and something instinctively  _her._  

She's so distracted by the glorious aroma now filling her nostrils that she doesn't notice what the blonde woman says.  

"Hello? Earth to Yaz." 

"Hm? Sorry, I was up in the clouds." 

"I was just asking if you could lie back and tell me where the pain is?" The blonde retorts in concern, pulling Yaz's thoughts back to the present. She knows when she’s feeling particularly concerned for her health, following the curve of her lip as it twists into a pensive, fleeting frown.   

Yaz shifts back against the sheets and gestures to the bottom of her ribs, where Joanna lifts her top to reveal purple-blue tinted skin. She gives the younger woman a chiding frown, brows pinched in concern. “You should’ve mentioned this, Yaz.” 

The woman in question can only offer up a guilty look, gaze averted to the suddenly  _extremely_ interesting sheets. She’s distracted, however, when the doctor’s cool palms settle over the bruises to inspect, applying pressure here and there to judge its seriousness. Yaz hisses when she settles over the darkest of bruising, however the shivers which roll down her spine when the blonde’s fingers rest against her side are of a different kind.  

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay another night, just so we can keep an eye on that bruising. Sorry.” She murmurs when she pulls away, scribbling down the new information on her clipboard and offering up an apologetic smile.  

“Got anyone to keep you company?” The blonde quips, settling in the chair at her bedside to finish off the paperwork. She's grateful for the opportunity to rest her feet after all the running about, plus the department seems to have calmed for the evening, allowing her a breather before the next rush of patients.  

“No, not tonight. My family came to visit this morning, but they have lives to get back to, y’know. And Ryan’s done so much for me already. I’d feel bad asking him to hang around for hours again.” She toys idly at her sheets, blinking against the lure of slumber. She wants to stay awake now that Joanna has some time to spare, lifting her gaze to watch the way she scribbles away at her notes with neat, swirling handwriting.  

“S’it a big family?” She questions without looking up from the paper.  

“Not really. Just my Mum, Dad, and Sonya, my little sister. Today was the longest time I've seen her off her phone, so she  _must_ be worried. Didn’t stop her from making fun of me, though.”  

“Ah, sisters.” The doctor chortles, sitting back in her chair once the notes are written up. She tucks her hair behind her left ear, the chain of her earring catching the light and drawing Yaz’s attention. “I wish I had one. They seem like fun.” 

“Oh, you are  _so_  wrong. I love Sonya, of course, but I’m telling you, she’s more annoying than half the drunk people I have to deal with every night. And that’s a  _lot of drunk people.”_  

She earns a chuckle for that, and for once, the usually hyperactive doctor looks somewhat relaxed. Yasmin takes pride in the fact she’s the one to have caused it, or at least helped. It seems as though the blonde appreciates her presence as much as she does.  

“Do  _you_ have family, Joanna?” 

“Me? No, not any more. Used to, but they’ve all gone now.” Joanna states, in a tone which sounds far too chipper than it should. The blonde straightens up, as if disregarding her thoughts on the topic. In an instant, her smile returns and she’s back to her usual self. “Anyway, I’ve got my colleagues; they’re all good friends of mine. And I’ve got my patients to look after. That's more than enough for me, I reckon.”  

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Frankly, Yaz is relieved to know the doctor is a human being; no one can be that happy and chipper all the time. The millisecond of a frown which crosses her features adds another unique layer to her personality, although the young police officer finds herself unwilling to encourage another frown for as long as she lives. She wants to see her cheerful and bubbly and bright, because she deserves nothing less.  

“You’ve got a great outlook on life, Joanna. I wish I could be as hopeful as you half the time.”  

“Please, call me Jo. And thank you. In my experience, hope always prevails in the end. And I have a  _lot of experience.”_  

“You make it sound as if you’re a million years old, Jo. Is that what made you become a doctor? The fact that hope usually finds its way?” 

“It feels like it, sometimes.” As if to prove her point, Jo stretches in her seat, her crisp, pale blue blouse riding up slightly over her faintly toned stomach muscles and the hint of soft curves. Yasmin’s eyes follow the movement in what she hopes is subtle interest. “But yes, pretty much. That  _and_  the fact one of my childhood teachers told me I could never be a doctor. I never warmed to Mister Krasko. He was one of my first patients, funnily enough. Talk about karma, hm?”  

Yasmin chuckles into her palm, where she goes on to poorly disguise a yawn. The doctor notices right away, gaze flicking to her watch before she stands, straightening out her white coat. It's creased from where she’s been sitting down, but only adds to the height of her already tall stature.  _Not that Yaz has a habit of noticing the little details._  

“Silly me, chattering away while you’re meant to be resting. Get some sleep now, Yaz. You know where I am if you need me, or some biscuits. Did I mention I loved biscuits?” 

“You might’ve, just a few times. Goodnight, Jo.” 

“Goodnight, Yasmin Khan.”  

Admittedly, it doesn’t take long for her to give in to the clutches of sleep, and when she does, her dreams are filled by an eccentric, high-spirited individual, with blonde hair and youthful skin as soft and intoxicating as she’d expected. 


	4. let it burn

The day  _finally_ arrives for the injured police officer to be discharged twenty-four hours later, still very much on the mend as she sits on the edge of her bed and gathers her belongings, one-handed.  

“Need a hand?” A familiar, warm voice chimes, followed by a pair of footsteps from behind her. Joanna sidles over, her usual breezy grin settled comfortably on her lips.  

“I think you’ve helped more than enough, Jo. I couldn’t ask for more.” Yaz counters, lifting her gaze to give the doctor a look of absolute admiration. When she struggles to slide her jacket on with her only working arm, however, she glances up with a mock-pout, earning a laugh from the blonde as she fits the material carefully over her shoulders. 

“Oh! There's one more thing you could do for me, actually.” The dark-haired woman announces suddenly, heat rising in her cheeks and a childish smile spreading over her lips. “You reckon you could be the first person to sign my cast? It's silly, I know, but I can already tell Ryan is desperate to doodle on it. I can’t wait to see his face when he figures out you’ve signed it before him.” 

“Of course!” Joanna absolutely  _beams_ in mischievous delight, fishing her pen from her front pocket and ever so gently rolling Yaz’s sleeve up. She pauses for a moment to think, then sets pen to cast and scrawls out an eleven-digit number, then, in her usual swirly writing, she writes her name and signs with an ‘x’.  

“Whatever you do, don’t tell my boss.” Joanna is blushing at this point, pulling back to perch on the chair opposite Yasmin. The blue print stands out proudly against the white of her cast, and she’s reduced the other woman to flustered surprise.  

“Is that your -” 

“My number? Yes. Just in case of – y'know, emergencies, and... stuff.” 

“Emergencies and stuff. I'll keep that in mind.”  

They’re laughing and giggling like giddy teenagers when Ryan turns up to take Yaz home, eliciting a knowing smirk and a mouthed ‘I told you so’ towards his best friend. When he notices the number scrawled over her cast, his brows raise, and he glances between the two women in silent contemplation.  

“Y’sure you don’t want your girlfriend to take you home, Yaz?” 

The glare he receives in return leaves him grimacing down at his toes in faux-apology, though he’s still sniggering when he picks up Yasmin’s belongings and steps aside to give her space to stand. She’s still wobbly, so the doctor steadies her with an arm interlinked with her own.  

“You okay to walk? I can grab you a wheelchair, if you’d prefer?” Seemingly unfazed by Ryan’s teasing, the blonde’s sole focus is on ensuring the other woman is strong enough to carry herself again. He can’t help but admire her a little more for that.  

“No way. I’m  _walking_ out of here, thank you very much.” Her stubborn streak refuses to give in, tentative steps bringing her to the end of the room in no time. Joanna makes sure to follow the pair of them out to the entrance to the hospital, even though she probably shouldn’t (probably? More like  _definitely_. She  _definitely_ shouldn’t be doing this).  

Once they reach the double-door entrance and step outside, the blonde can’t help but admire the sunlight bouncing off her features and leaving orange hues reflected in her pupils. It's early evening and the sun is just dipping below a line of pine trees adjacent to the hospital, but Yaz hasn’t seen the light of day in what seems like  _months._  

She spends a few long moments basking in the sight while Ryan jogs off to fetch the car, then turns to the now pretty breathless doctor at her side.  

“Thanks for everything you’ve done, Jo. You proper smashed it. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.” She expresses in earnest, using up her remaining energy to lean up on her toes and sweep her into a one-armed hug. Joanna seems to pause in surprise for a moment before her arms curl around her waist, making sure not to squeeze too hard and risk aggravating her bruising. As much as she’s going to miss her presence, she wouldn’t ever wish for her to return to the hospital again.  

“It’s my job, silly. I’m the doctor; here to help.” She counters, prolonging the hug for a few more moments than necessary before she reluctantly draws back. She nods down to the digits dancing across her cast, eyes swimming with hope.

“In all seriousness, though, if you feel any more pain or if you need anything, just give me a call and I'll come running. Probably not running, actually. Walking, most likely. Or cycling. I think I still know how to skate board, too.  _Anyway!_  I’ll be there; that’s what I'm trying to say. Anything you need; anything at all, I'm there.”  

“Thank you, again. I’ll - uh, I’ll be in touch, for sure. Not much to do now I'm off work, anyway.” 

“Oh! And before I forget, next time you’re on a job,  _please_ spare a thought towards your own safety, okay? No more running into burning cars for a while, alrigh’? I’m going to miss you, but that doesn’t mean I want you back in here any time soon.” 

“Yes, doc.” She breezes over the blonde’s confession, offering up a challenging grin instead.  

“Good. Now I think Ryan might be getting a bit impatient, so I guess I'll see you... when I see you?” 

“I’ll see you when I see you, Jo.” She murmurs in return, sparing her another longing glance before she ambles over to where Ryan has pulled up in his beat-up, threadbare beetle, also considered his pride and joy.  

Joanna finds herself lingering at the entrance until the car rumbles past, sending her blatant crush the goofiest of waves. She has time to curse herself for that once she’s out of sight, and sure as hell she does.  

 

After a thorough grilling from her best friend over the sudden development in her and Jo’s relationship, Yaz is finally left in peace in the safety and familiarity of her own flat, footsteps instinctively drawing her to her room and straight to bed. She doesn’t even bother to change from her sweatpants and old, over-washed university hoodie, curling up in the comfort of her sheets and settling into an easy slumber.  

It’s particularly surprising, however, when she’s rudely awoken in the very early hours of the morning by a searing pain in her side. She must’ve rolled onto it in her sleep, and the agony cursing through her leaves her trembling and clammy. That’s when she comes to the sudden realisation that she’d left her pain medication in Ryan’s car. With a stuttered gasp and a chatter of teeth, she reaches out to blindly grab for her mobile, remembering with a groan that her best friend has an early shift, so she’d best not disturb him. It's not worth the poor police officer working alongside him temporarily experiencing Ryan’s tired wrath.  

She has to set the device down to deal with the next wave of agony, twisting in her sheets and biting hard enough on her bottom lip that the faint tang of iron assaults her tongue.  

When she finally composes herself, Yaz dials the number she catches sight of in the faint light, hesitating for mere seconds before pressing ‘call’.  

It stops on the third tone, and the sleepy, raspy voice of a certain blonde doctor answers.  

“Hello?”


	5. it's always darkest before the dawn

She hears the vibrations on her bedside table before the familiar three-beat tone, blinking blearily through the darkness as she reaches for her phone. It reads ‘unknown caller’ and the number doesn’t seem familiar to her, but she answers anyway. She checks the time on her alarm clock; three thirty in the morning. Brilliant.  

“Hello?” She quips tentatively, rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

A few moments of pained quiet follow, though she swears she can hear someone on the other end of the line.  

“Is this Jo?” A familiar voice whispers, barely audible.  

“ _Yaz?_ Is that you?” 

Only then does she pick up on the shallow, quickening breaths and quiet hisses of pain.  

“What’s happened? Are you alright?” 

“I left the painkillers in Ryan’s car and... and-” There’s another whimper and some shuffling about as Yaz squirms away from the pain. 

“Yaz? Yaz, what’s your address?” 

“Park Hill, y’can’t -” Another pause for breath. “- y’can’t miss it. Flat thirty-four.” 

“I’ll be there as quick as I can, okay?” 

Her voice is shaky on the other end of the line, teeth chattering.  

“Thank you.” 

Joanna routes through her wardrobe for her back up medical-kit, then races out of her flat with her keys. She doesn’t bother to change from an oversized top and leggings, simply shrugging on her coat and taking two steps at a time in her haste to reach her car.  

It’s a short drive to Yaz’s flat, filled with heavy silence. Even once she gets to the brightly coloured building, its usual spark is missing. She hurtles up the steps and onto her level, scanning each door for the right number. 

Thankfully, Yasmin’s door is unlocked – after a solid effort on the dark-haired woman’s behalf. Joanna knocks gently on the door on her way in, however, out of politeness.  

“Hello? Yaz? This’ll be really embarrassing if I've got the wrong flat.” She murmurs the last comment to herself, padding through the hallway at the sound of shuffling.  

“Jo? I’m just – I'm just through here.” Comes a quiet, rasped response from the room to her right, where Yaz is curled up atop the sheets and clutching her side. She's clammy and pale with pain, breaths coming in quick succession.  

The doctor is quick to appear at her side of the bed, reaching out to rest the back of her hand against her forehead.  

“Tell me where the pain is, Yaz. Is it just your side?” She lowers her voice instinctively when the other woman winces, skin hot to the touch beneath her hand.  

“Your head, too?” She all but whispers, earning a slow nod in response; it must be painful, in that case.  

“I’m going to give you some medicine for the pain, okay? It’s the strongest I have, so it might make you a little loopy, but it should do the trick.” She delves into her briefcase, fetching a needle and a small vile of clear liquid.  

“This won’t hurt a bit.” She reaches gently for the arm not currently wrapped around her waist, sliding her sleeve up cautiously before administering the instrument into the clearest vein she can find.  

“Ouch!” Yaz hisses, giving her a scolding look even through the agony and discomfort. 

“I lied.” She quips, giving her an apologetic smile as she starts to drive the liquid into her system.  

She slips her hand into Yaz’s as if by instinct as the medication slowly, gradually takes hold. Within five minutes, the other woman is able to finally relax slightly into the sheets, breaths evening out and her pulse – something Joanna hadn’t admitted to being slightly concerned about, returns to normal.  

“How do you feel?” 

“Still a bit sore, but that’s definitely helped. I’m so sorry for waking you, I just – I just didn’t know what to do. There was so much pain and I panicked, and I couldn’t breathe and – and...” Her breathing picks up again, fast, hard breaths sounding through her nose. 

“Hey, hey, shh. Enough of that, okay? Take some deep breaths with me, alrigh’? Breathe in for four seconds, hold it, then out for eight. Can you do that for me?” 

She gets a desperate nod in response, eyes wide and panic-filled. The blonde breathes in alongside her, matching her breaths when they gradually even out enough for her to relax again. She earns a proud, reassuring grin, pearly whites on show while delicate creases form at the corner of her eyes.  

“Keep doing that for me while I grab some cold flannels, okay?” The doctor murmurs in the low light, giving her hand a squeeze before she straightens up again and navigates her way to the nearest bathroom. She dampens two flannels and returns, idly admiring her home in the process. It’s very Yaz, she supposes, dark purples, greys and whites mingling in each room. Everything is neat and orderly, as she’d expected.  

When she ambles back through, Yaz is still working to calm her breathing, blinking through the haze of pain as it clears the stars from her vision. She glances up when the blonde wonders in, shifting to prop herself up better against the pillows. Her arm rests on the sheets in her lap, her winding script still clinging to its cast.  

“Here, let me help.” Jo murmurs into the quiet, settling a hand at her back while she shifts her pillows around for a better position. She eases her gently back against them, bearing in mind the pain in her side, then perches on the edge of her mattress.  

“How’s the breathing? You alrigh’?" 

“Yeah - yeah, I think I’m fine. Thanks, again.” She blushes, and Joanna is grateful to see colour back in her cheeks, if a little pleased she’d caused it in the first place. 

“It’s my job, Yaz. Stop thanking me, I might develop an ego.” She pulls a face which Yaz finds comical, if her slow smile is anything to go by. Then, a cool flannel comes to rest against her forehead, gently dabbing away at damp skin. She tries not to admire her features too obviously, enough that she doesn’t notice the eyes curiously taking in her own through foggy eyes. The medicine is well into her system by now, meaning the cool material is even more soothing to her pain.  

“Not every doctor would turn up at their former patient’s place at the stroke of midni- wait, it’s _t_ _hree in the morning,_  Jo! Aren’t you meant to be in work in four hours?” Yaz almost chides, giving her an incredulous look while guilt settles deep in her stomach. Internally, she scolds herself for being so selfish.  

“I’ve been working overtime since you were brought into the hospital, Yaz.” She admits bashfully, averting her gaze until suddenly the sheets are  _incredibly_  interesting. “I think I can afford a day off once in a while.” 

Her confession leaves Yaz searching her mind for words, for speech, for  _anything_. She leans into her cool touch instead, lashes fluttering when her fingertips slip from the material to brush through her hair.  

“You worked overtime to  _look after me_?” 

“I mean, technically, I had a lot of patients during that time – well, actually not that many, really. Just you. Uh, so... yeah? Kind of. Yes. I worked overtime to look after you. That was... a thing, I did.” 

The grin which spreads slowly over Yasmin’s lips is infectious, and now Jo takes her turn to blush. They sit there, smiling blatantly at each other, for a few long moments before Yaz starts to blink away sleep, the medicine now cursing through her veins making her dozy.  

“I’ll leave some pain killers here with you, okay? There's some strong stuff rushing through you at the moment, Yaz. It's probably about to knock you for six. I'll head off.” The blonde sits up, drawing the flannel back to return it to the bathroom.  

On the way back, however, Yaz catches her hand, meeting her gaze with warmth to her eyes. “You don’t have to go, y’know. You could always... stay?” She gestures to the uninhabited half of her double bed, sitting up. “It saves you coming for a second trip in case I need you again?” 

The blonde swallows at the unlikely insinuation to her final question, glancing between the young police officer and the empty side of her bed in internal debate.  

“I mean... it makes sense, I guess. You might need some more in the morning, when you wake up, so staying over  _would_ make it easier...” She announces to herself more than the other woman, lips twisting into a pensive smile. “If you’re sure it won’t be too much trouble?” 

“I suggested it, Jo. C’mon, you look just as exhausted as I feel.” Yaz shifts, shifting to slide under the sheets and find a position which doesn’t agitate her side. She settles on her back and watches as Jo toes out of her boots and coat, folding them neatly atop her medical kit. Turning, she catches her curious gaze with a fatigued smile, peeling back the covers to settle herself as cautiously as possible between the sheets, ensuring she doesn’t jostle her. The blonde moves onto her side, only then realising how tired she really is.  

“Jo?” 

“Hm?” 

“ _Thank you._ ”  

A wayward hand finds its way to Jo’s beneath the sheets, fingers slotting perfectly into place while two sets of eyes close and a quiet, contented sigh leaves Yasmin’s lips.  

“Goodnight, Yaz.” 

“Goodnight, Jo.” 


	6. like rum on a fire

Streaks of light dance across disheveled sheets to greet the morning, green eyes peering around the unfamiliar environment with more than a touch of fatigue. She's awake enough, however, to remember the events which took up their early morning hours. Inhaling the strangely comforting scent of Yasmin’s fabric conditioner, she simply lays there for another few long minutes; though it feels like seconds.  

Time passes quickly in the warm presence of those close to your heart, she recalls, studying the curve of the other woman’s upper lip before her gaze darts to her long lashes, taking in as many details as she can while her former patient continues to sleep. She wants so much to just reach out, to trace and map out each blemish and curve embracing her features.  

But she mustn’t, not for now, anyway. In the meantime, after scanning her expression for any hint of discomfort or pain, she slips from the lure of warm sheets and an even warmer presence to make her way into the kitchen, taking in the sight with new eyes. It's neat and minimalist; very Yaz, from what she can tell.  

Feather-light footsteps navigate their way to the kettle as if by second nature, flicking the switch before she hunts down two mugs and a container of coffee granules. She rubs sleep from her eyes while she fills up each mug in turn, then fetches milk and sugar. Usually, she wouldn’t drink coffee, but the late night as well as her concern for her friend mean it’s more than necessary.  

A fruitful search of her cupboards hauls up a pack of custard creams, and in her hazy state, they taste  _heavenly_. She heads back through to Yasmin’s room to set a mug on her nightstand, tucking the sheets up from where she’d discarded them earlier. It's only then, almost dropping crumbs onto the other woman, that she realises a pack of biscuits probably  _isn’t quite_  the healthiest option for breakfast, slipping back out to the kitchen to glance through the cupboards.  

In her ideal world, custard creams would make up three meals a day.  

There’s some bacon and eggs in the fridge, so, as quietly as she can, Joanna starts making up some breakfast for the pair of them. While she’s distracted by the task at hand, she doesn’t notice the shifting and stirring from the room along the corridor.  

The aroma of strong coffee, bacon and slightly singed toast slowly rouses Yaz from her slumber, the pain in her side still uncomfortable, but, thankfully, she hadn’t moved much in her sleep, so it’s dimmed to a dull, unforgiving ache. She's cautious as she sits up, settling her encased arm in her lap when she feels the warmth still lingering at her side, and... are those  _biscuit crumbs?_  

It's only once she’s been awake for five minutes that she remembers what had woken her up in the first place, glancing over to her bedside table and tilting her head at the fresh mug of coffee perched there. She reaches for the mug, memories of the night before gradually returning to the forefront of her mind.  _Oh._ She’d called the doctor because she was in pain, and she’d... asked her to stay?  

Her cheeks burn with the realisation, the curve of her lip pausing against her mug when she eyes the kitchen through the gap in her open door. She spots slim, legging-clad legs and fluffy socks and almost collapses, right there and then. She stayed the night to look after her, and now she’s making her breakfast? 

Unaware of Yasmin’s internal struggle, Joanna finishes up, dishing the food onto plates while she nibbles on her fifth custard cream. She pads across the floor quietly, plates in hand, poking her head around the door once she’s close enough.  

“You’re up! That's a relief. I didn’t wake you, did I? I only burnt one piece of toast, this time. That's a new record.” 

After the initial shock, Yaz gives her a bashful, drowsy smile, her mug still cradled between her palms.  

“You made breakfast? You know, you really didn’t have to do this for me. This is crazy. Aren’t you tired?” 

“I’ve had later nights, believe me. It was actually proper cosy. It's a good job I stayed - I don’t think I've slept so comfortably in ages.” She pauses to stop herself rambling further, sliding onto the bed beside her, cross-legged, and handing over Yasmin’s plate.  

The dark-haired woman simply gives her one of those looks the doctor still can’t decipher; a mix between admiration, awe, and disbelief. It's a good look on her, though, she decides. She wouldn’t mind being graced with that look again.  

When she picks up a slightly charred piece of toast, she tilts her head at the blonde.  

“Toasters and I have never gotten on.” 

“... Okay. Sure.” She’d tried her best, bless her.  

They eat in surprisingly comfortable silence, though Yaz’s appetite still hasn’t blossomed back to life, so she mostly just picks at her food. She's secretly pleased the doctor had remembered her cultural background, offering up porridge as a replacement for the bacon she's nibbling away at.   

“You should try and eat some more, Yaz. Get your energy up.” Joanna chides, though she’s trying her hardest not to act like a nagging mum. The concerned look she sends her is enough to encourage a few more mouthfuls before the police officer gives in, offering up a ‘don’t tell me to eat more or else’ expression when Joanna tuts. She breaks into a laugh at that, backing off.  

“Feeling any better?” She starts around a mouthful of bacon, making Yaz chuckle in turn.  

“Still not one hundred percent, but the bruising seems to have gone down a bit. It's still painful, though.” 

“Do you mind if I take a look?” 

The blonde sets the plates aside to wash up later, making room for Yaz to lie back again.  

“Uh, sure.” Though she’s blushing, lips pursed as she draws her pyjama top up over the bruising. There’s still a dark purple-blue bruise in the middle, but the rest has faded to green up to the underside of her chest. Joanna takes in the sight with a composed expression, though she feels for the woman when she imagines the discomfort she’s in.  

“Is it okay if I feel around for any hidden damage? If it’s too painful, don’t worry.” 

“No, it’s okay. Carry on.” She nods in assurance, braced for the pain to come.  

In all fairness, her touch is feather-light as it ghosts over the stained skin, only applying pressure to the outsides of the bruises. She seems happy with the result, giving her one of those wide smiles which always manages to ease the pain somehow. She gently peels the top back over and glances over the smaller injuries to her face. There are strips over each cut, which could do with replacing.  

“Can I re-do these while I'm here?” She nods to her cheek, sitting up to reach over the side of the bed and grab her case. To Yaz’s nod, she gently tips her chin up, aware of the small intake of breath it elicits. She pins it down to the cool wipe now dancing around the deepest of the cuts, just under her eye, (though thankfully it’s not deep enough to obscure her pretty features). She cleans the wound up before applying fresh strips to the delicate skin, warm breaths melting against her cheek and making Yasmin’s eyes flutter.  

Again, Joanna puts the action down to the harsh sting.  

The next wound is at her temple, allowing the dark-haired woman a breather from their proximity. She hisses when the tape is being peeled away, which encourages her to take the next one slower, fingertips lingering under her chin when she tilts it slightly. The whole process takes less than two minutes, although the mix of proximity and quiet while Jo concentrates makes it feel like hours.  

It’s so intimate and distracting that neither pick up on the curious footsteps wondering through Yasmin’s unlocked front door.  

“Yaz? Your door was open, so I just thought I'd come on... in.” 

His pause comes as a result of the sight he witnesses; Joanna has her back to the door, face inches from Yasmin’s and both palms raised to cup her neck and chin. He averts his gaze in a dramatic motion, holding a hand over his eyes.  

“Uh, sorry. Am I intruding on something?” He groans, peeking through his fingers.  

“Ryan? What are you doing here?” 

Only now does Joanna shift, turning to face the bloke with an expression far less mortified than Yaz. Her cheeks are flushed, though, lips parted in surprise.  

“Oh, hi, Ryan.” 

“You left your medication in the car. I was just dropping it b—wait, doctor Joanna? Why are you – this is so –  _wait,_ are you two...? Wow, Yaz. I knew you fancied her pants off, but that was  _quick._ Nice one.” 

He makes the assumption so fast and lacking hesitation that Yaz can only flush a startling pink and flail her arms at him.  

As though he’s deduced the hardest crime in history, Ryan simply sets the bag of medicine down and swaggers out, smirking and sneering all the way back to the front door.  

He leaves the two women blinking in surprise, turning to each other with matching looks of mixed emotion; shock? Agreement? Approval? Admiration? It's unclear, however they don’t have time to think into it too far.  

Joanna is the first to crack up, lips quivering before they break into a toothy grin, and then she’s laughing as though it’s the funniest performance she’s ever seen. Yaz can’t help the grin she bares before she joins in, clutching at her side desperately while laughter bubbles to life from her lips.  

Once they’re both composed again - which admittedly takes a long, long while and several soothing rubs to Yaz’s shoulder – Joanna gathers her things together and slides towards the edge of the bed.  

“I should probably be heading off, actually.” She hums through the tail-end of her laughter, sliding her feet into her boots. Her hair is still a little dishevelled, but it just adds to her adorable nature.  

Yaz ignores the voice in her head which tells her to ask her to stay, instead nodding slowly.  

“Of course, yeah. You’ve probably got loads of stuff to get on with.” She attempts her most cheery voice, sliding out from the sheets to stretch her legs for the first time in what feels like  _ages._ They're like jelly to begin with, so she takes a few breaths before sidling around to pick up their cutlery and plates, padding on through to the kitchen. It's not her best look – face patched up, arm in a cast and solely clad in an oversized t shirt and pyjama shorts – but she can’t do anything about it now.  

Once she reaches the kitchen, she sets the plates in the sink and turns back to watch Jo amble through from her room, giving her a reassuring grin.  

“I’m sorry about Ryan. That was proper weird and he’s, like, the most annoying person ever.” 

“Ah, don’t worry. At least you got your medication back, huh?” Jo shrugs her coat on, rocking on her toes until Yaz heads over to open the front door. She follows suit, lingering in the doorway.  

“You’ve still got my number, so, y’know, so if you need anything,  _anything at all,_ just give me a ring. Or I could - I could always pop ‘round sometime? Check how you’re doing?”  

“Yes! I mean – yeah, of course. I’d like that.” 

The blonde leans against the door-frame, presenting an air of casual grace; that is until the fabric of her jumper gets caught in the lock and she stumbles forward haphazardly, right into Yasmin’s space. When she looks up, their noses are touching and she clears her throat, trapped.  

“Uh, hi again. I’m a bit... stuck.” 

There’s a moment of stunned silence before Yaz reaches out, curling her fingers in the fabric to loosen its claim. When she meets her gaze, however, there’s a look in her eyes which she can’t ignore; not again. It's been lingering in the air since they’d first set eyes on each other, the atmosphere shifting when the blonde licks her lips.  

Yaz follows the movement, and, after a tiny nod from the doctor, she tightens her hold on her jumper and draws her in. Giving her a moment’s pause to pull away, she leans up to capture those smiling lips and finally,  _finally_ gives in to her urge. The blonde seems to falter for a moment, her brain short-circuiting because she’s  _kissing Yaz; gorgeous, brave, kind-hearted Yaz._  

She melts into the police officer’s embrace, breathing a soft sigh against her lips as she works to return the kiss. It's soft, so soft, but it promises so much in the near future. It's only when they’re breathless and panting that the women slowly pull back, Yaz’s free arm looped around the blonde’s neck while her own are settled against her cheek and neck, holding her in place.  

“Was that okay? I didn’t mean to force myself on you. I really was stuck, I prom-” Her apologies are cut short by another soft kiss from the younger woman, who’s giggling breathlessly when she pulls back.  

“No complaints here, doc.” 

“Right, yes. That was – right. Very smooth, Yasmin Khan.” She’s dazed and a little shocked, pulling a hand through her hair and shaking her head as if to clear her mind.  

“Better get a shift on, then, I guess. I'll –uh, I'll be in touch. About the injuries, of course.” 

“Oh,  _of course._  Just the  _injuries.”_ Yaz nods with faux-assertiveness, folding her arms as she watches her walk backwards, and backwards, and backwards, until she bumps into one of the pillars with a thoroughly embarrassed frown.  

“See you, Jo.” 

“Are you sure this pillar was here when I turned u- oh! Yes. See you again, Yasmin Khan.”  

Once she’s out of sight – and thankfully, still in one piece, - Yaz turns back into her flat, returning to the now surprisingly warming aroma of burnt toast.  

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! let me know if you'd like to see more! overwhelm me with prompts on my tumblr: i-hate-empty-pockets !!


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